I just had a solitary dinner of pho, all on my own, at around 9 pm.

Rare beef flank cooking before my eyes in the soup. The night pressing in the windows.

You can't see the stars in the city.

I have felt alone my whole life. It is very strange.

Growing up alone, I have become, I think, a very complete, and yet incomplete, adult.

Sometimes I feel more incomplete than usual, and I go eat noodles, bring a book, and write poetry in the margins.

I guess I feel complete on my own. The incompleteness isn't loneliness really. It's more like I feel lost, like life is the ocean and I'm adrift.